


Beginnings and Endings

by funhousefreak



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alliance, Allies, Anger, Annoying, Dancing, Death, Depression, Drama, Earth, Gen, Hatred, Irken, Love, Pain, Robot, Sadness, Tragedy, dance, life story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funhousefreak/pseuds/funhousefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is familiar with the cute, adorable, carefree Gir. But what if that is not how Gir actually feels? What if one could get his side of story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where to Begin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wrote this story based on several comments Jhonen Vasquez made during the DVD commentary n the episode "Bestest Friend." He said that Gir is simply "trapped in a cute body" and only wants to die. This sparked an idea in my head, and thus, this story was born! I know this is a very strange and dark take on Gir, but I just wanted to depict him from a perspective closer to what Jhonen originally had in mind. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

I do not know where to start. The logical place would be at the beginning—the beginning of my existence. That would explain why I am who I am today. But that seems too ordinary, too mundane, and I am neither of those. So I will start at the ending—the ending of my existence. 

~(*)~

It was a particularly normal winter day. Snow was falling down upon the roof that covered my head, and upon the city that lay beyond my quiet suburbs. Well, our suburbs, I should say. And they certainly were not always quiet. Anyways, today was nothing special. As I understood it, it was late December, only several days away from Christmas. My… master kept a calendar up in our kitchen which counted down the days until Christmas, starting with the number twelve. He loathed the holiday, after his attempt to teleport every human to the Massive to be enslaved—just another brilliant part of his mission. 

Now, before I continue, I must say something in regards to my master: he was dumb, or at least very naïve. It had been seven years since we had first arrived here. For years I had been under the illusion that the mission the Tallest had given him was real, that he was truly supposed to be the conqueror of this planet. But over time, as I stood beside him and watched every one of his plans fail, or be thwarted by his dear friend with the big head, I realized that he would never complete his mission. At first, this concerned me. But then I remembered all his calls to the Tallest, reporting his latest attempts at conquering this “spinning ball of dirt.” They never seemed to care that his plans failed; in fact, by the look in their eyes, it seemed to me like they were expecting his plans to fail. This caused me to deduce the truth: there was no mission—no real mission, anyways. The Tallest had lied to him. He was incompetent, and they knew that. I had always known that they hated him, but this realization made everything crystal clear. They had set him up to fail, so they would never have to deal with him again. 

Anyways, now that that is established, back to that December day. I was sitting on the couch, watching The Scary Monkey Show. I was at peace with myself for once, as I had diverted all thoughts from my head; also, to keep them at bay, I had put on this mindless television show. When I first arrived on Earth, this show had been the one thing keeping me sane—well, sane enough. It had calmed me by erasing all thoughts from my head, which I needed to do if I was going to continue living. However, now it was like a drug. I had become addicted to it, with its mind-numbing qualities and pointlessness. 

Once I had finally entered a blissful state of numbness, I leaned back on the couch, resting my metal head against the pink fabric. But it was not long before I heard an angry growl elicited from somewhere in the kitchen. I sat forward and looked into the other room, which had no door to separate itself from the living room. I regretted looking the moment I did. My cyan eyes caught sight of a very short, very angry green figure who looked prepared to strangle me. I just stared at him, an absent look on my face. 

“GIR!” he screamed in his high-pitched voice. It was a voice that had always irked me, and I restrained myself—with much effort—from twitching my left eye at the sound of it. “Why aren’t you guarding the house? Those horrid singing drones could arrive at any moment and bombard our house with disgusting yuletide carols!”

I internally sighed, thinking to myself that I was guarding the house, seeing as the front door was within my peripheral vision from my placement on the couch; therefore, I would notice if someone entered. I knew arguing with him was no use, though, so I decided to pretend as if I had not been paying attention.

“I wanna taco!” I screamed, causing my master to roll his eyes and shake his head in annoyance. 

“Just do as I say, GIR!” he yelled. He then turned around and stormed away, disappearing from my view. I heard him open the lid of the trashcan next to the kitchen counter, which was actually an elevator down to his secret base. Then, I counted to twenty to ensure he was far enough below the main house that he would not be able to hear me.

“I feel like `splodin,” I said to myself in my obnoxiously high-pitched, childlike voice. I hardly sounded anything like a threatening robot. But, then again, I wasn’t designed to be such a thing—only to appear as one. Over the years, I had adjusted to speaking this way. At first I had only done it to divert people’s attention from my misery, which worked remarkably well. But after a while, I decided to make it my permanent voice. 

However, my voice was not the only annoying, overly-happy thing about me—it was my whole way of life. Nonetheless, it did obscure the truth from people, even though I am sure no one would have cared if I had expressed my true feelings; so, I ended up accepting it, just like my voice. I acted like I was a child with ADD, who was also incredible naïve and overly-excited about everything in life. While it did not kill the pain inside, it allowed for me to lead a simple existence, one of no true consequence. That is what I wanted, for when I left this world, I wanted no one to remember me. Of course, that would be impossible, seeing as I had been living with Zim… I mean, Master for seven years now. Also, I was sure his little friend Dib would notice if I were not around. Thinking of him made me think of his pretty sister, the scary girl with the violet hair. She had been so beautiful. The best moment of my life had been with her, when she danced with me. Ah, the memories…

That was one of the few happy moments I had ever had, and thinking about it awoke the rest of my memories. Luckily, I stopped myself along my train of thought before many of the bad ones flooded my brain. It had been seven years, seven miserable years of unbearable life. It needs to end, it has to end. It must end today; it must end now.

I wanted to shrug that thought off, as I had so many times before, but I could not. I just could not. Today was different; I did not know why, but it was. It seemed that for once a decision had been made, and so I forced myself to act upon it. It would be an early Christmas present to myself, and what a lovely one it would be. 

I let the memories of my miserable life flash before my eyes, as fast and as slow as they wanted. When I found no more to view, I closed my eyes; however, I reopened them seconds later. I wanted to see this happen. I did not want to shy away from it, for I did not fear it. I briefly wondered if I should call out to Zim, to tell him to come watch this happen—to watch him lose his only companion, and the closest thing he had ever had to a friend. Nonetheless, I decided against it, as I probably would not get to see much of his face during the incident anyway.

I briefly closed my cyan blue eyes for the last time, giving myself enough time to prepare for what I was about to do. I opened them again, and stared straight ahead. I kept my vision in focus, not allowing my eyes to glaze over in blissful relief like I wanted to. I then activated the function in my wiring by thought. 

And then I self-destructed.


	2. Existence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I now owe you an explanation for that drastic action. The best way to do that is to return to the beginning of my story—the beginning of my existence—for it was one of the main reasons why I was who I was, and why I did what I did.

Chapter Two: Existence

I suppose I now owe you an explanation for that drastic action. The best way to do that is to return to the beginning of my story—the beginning of my existence—for it was one of the main reasons why I was who I was, and why I did what I did.

~(*)~

It all began on Conventia, at the Great Assigning for Operation Impending Doom II. I did not exist for the actual assigning, but I heard about it vaguely later on. It had been the assigning of the Invaders, an elite branch of the Irken military, to the planets they would conquer. While I do not know this for sure, I can safely assume that Zim only got assigned a planet through desperate begging and obnoxious pleas. That was how he always got what he wanted. However, as I said before, I know that he was never really considered an Invader by the Tallest, nor any Irken for that matter. While I eventually figured it out through the Tallest’s obvious loathing expressions and their lack of enthusiasm for his “mission,” the first time I actually noticed it was when he received a large package that was labeled: “To: Zim.” Had Zim been a real Invader, it would have been labeled: “To: Invader Zim.” However, I had not paid much attention to that detail at the time, seeing as the package contained a Megadoomer. But as I continued to notice the Tallest’s behavior towards him, that label slipped back into my mind, and it became one of the first pieces of evidence I had for my theory. 

Anyways, back to my story. Despite it all, Zim was still assigned a planet, whose name he later discovered was Earth. After receiving their assignments, all of the Invaders were given a Standard Issue Information Retrieval unit, also called a SIR unit. These robots do exactly what their name implies: gather information; although I did hear Zim later mention that they could also be used as a thermos. They also do any other tasks that help their masters with their mission. However, to summarize what they are in one word, they are robots. They are about the height of a human toddler when standing, and they have silver bodies and red eyes. Every Invader received one, as they provided vital assistance to their masters. Even Zim got one; however, his was different. His was me.

I am no normal SIR unit. In fact, I prefer to think of myself as a completely different entity. I am unique. I have feelings and a personality, even if it is a fake and shallow one that I use to hide my true self. Then again, I guess that makes me even more complex, and therefore more individualistic. If I can create a fake personality for my true self to hide behind, I must be an intelligent, unique life form, with free will and a mind of my own. Indeed, the only way I survived through life for seven years was by telling myself that. Even though it might have just seemed like a lifeline for most of my existence, I stood by that statement until the day I died. During my life, I was a living entity, and nobody could take that truth away from me. 

However, that had not been the intention of the Tallest when they made me. They had not meant to create such a unique being. All they had known was that they did not want to give Zim a fully-operational SIR unit, seeing as his “mission” was a lie. So, they made me out of scraps of metal that they got from a garbage can. Purple, or at least I think it was him, put some random nick-knacks from his pocket into my head, and then threw me on the ground in front of Zim. I waited several moments before getting up, even though I was already awake. I had been hoping that they would think I was not operation, and would cast me aside to be left in peace.

I actually awoke sometime during my assembly. I did still retain some aspects and equipment of SIR units, allowing me to have knowledge of their kind. I quickly discovered what I was designed to look like, but I knew that I was different than the rest of them. I knew that I was not supposed to express emotions, or to even be capable of feeling them, for that matter. Still, I already felt miserable and sad. How could I not be? I was made from garbage and thrown together in a minute’s time. I was not built with any real expectations in mind. I was only made to uphold a lie created by some moronic rulers, who’s only claim to power was their height. I meant nothing to them. They only saw me as a tool they could use for their benefit. 

The moment I realized I was different, I knew that I had to dispose of the label of a SIR unit. That is why when I stood up and looked at Zim, I said, “GIR, reporting for duty!” I made sure to keep the name close enough to SIR, so as not to cause suspicion. 

Now that I think about, it seems strange that I was created for Zim, a person whom I hated my whole life. I guess I really should have thanked him; for without him, I never would have been alive. I know that I should at least not hate him. Despite all of the yelling and trouble he gave me during my life, he did keep me. I was the little misfit who destroyed and tampered with everything, who was so loud and irksome. I can honestly say that I am surprised that he did not kick me out of the base or blow me up at some point. 

But at the same time, I lived a horrid, miserable existence. Why should I thank anyone for creating me, if that was how I had to live my entire life? Not to mention, sometimes I wish he had just destroyed me or kicked me out, for living with an incompetent idiot like him just made my death wish even stronger. Indeed, I shall forget gratitude, for misery is more abundant.


End file.
